i think we need to talk (please don't leave)
by deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: Number four of my prompt fill. I combined two of them together.


"I want to fuck you, Regina." Her hands wrap around a petite waist, skin hot beneath her fingertips where a deep indigo blouse has been hastily untucked from onyx slacks. "So _please_ , just…let me?"

An olive-toned hand presses against her breastbone then, her lips barely brushing Regina's as Regina tilts her head away.

"Is that all you want from me? To fuck me?" It's said softly, meant to be gentle teasing, Emma knows. But she sees the hurt swimming within the dark irises searching her own. And they didn't _do_ this. They weren't supposed to. No feelings attached. No messiness. No problems.

Just sex. _Just_ fucking.

They'd agreed.

Emma sighs and takes a step back, Regina's nails scraping against her bra where Regina'd unbuttoned her shirt as she does so, her hands falling to her sides, off of Regina's hips. Regina crosses her arms over her stomach even though Emma hadn't even touched the buttons on hers yet.

She rubs at her forehead, feeling a headache pound behind the bone there. She thinks about having this discussion. The one they'd promised never to have.

The one that has her flat on her back most nights, blinking up at the ceiling, lulled into an almost numbed trance by Killian's soft snores.

She thinks about telling her. She does.

But when she looks up she remembers why she had decided not to four months ago. When they started this. Well, when they gave _in_ to this.

Because Regina's looking at her like she wants more. She's looking at her like she'd give Emma the entire world if she asked for it. She's looking at her like she _loves_ her.

She's looking at her like she loves her and it _hurts_.

And Emma's sure it does. She's almost positive it does. It probably hurts the exact same way it hurts her.

They were idiots for doing this. For giving in to something that would only end up burning them both, leaving them with identical scars.

Emma loved scars. Especially the one above Regina's top lip.

Her eyes move to it; it's more prominent in this moment, Regina's lipstick smudged, lips a light plum, kiss-bruised.

Her fingers twitch to skitter across it, to smooth a thumb over it, to kiss it like she has so many times before.

"I'm not doing this with you," Emma grits out, balling her hand into a fist to keep it from reaching out to Regina.

She turns to leave, shirt still unbuttoned and one side hanging slightly, exposing her shoulder. She runs her hand through her hair.

Her hand is on the knob of the front door when Regina seems to find her voice.

"Of course you won't. Because that would mean you'd have to talk about your _feelings_." This time her voice is bitter, chipped with it, hoarse. And she spits out the last word like it's sour on her tongue.

Emma whirls around. "Yeah, the ones we said we weren't going to bring up, remember?" Emma stalks forward, heart pounding beneath her ribcage. "Because you have Robin Hood and I have Killian and we weren't _ever_ supposed to do this, Regina."

"We knew what we were getting ourselves into, what would happen, we _knew_ and yet we did it anyway. Because we're fucking _idiots_." Emma gives a sharp bark of laughter and Regina sucks in a breath, something quick and accompanied by her arms uncrossing, hands clasping together instead, wringing, clenching and unclenching against the soft silk of her blouse.

She looks like she's struggling to keep herself together, like maybe if she squeezes her hands hard enough it'll keep the rest of her intact as well.

Emma understands the action. Understands _Regina_. Understands Regina more than anyone else in this town does. More than Henry and certainly more than _Robin_ _Hood_.

She feels her jaw flex at the thought. At the thought of someone else's hands caressing, touching, _feeling_ Regina's skin. At the thought of Regina enjoying it, _wanting_ it.

"Yes," Regina breathes, "yes we are."

She swallows then, looks around the foyer (they hadn't even made it up the few stairs past the door), clears her throat, seems to have a little more control over herself.

"You should go," she says softly. Emma blinks. Swallows. Nods. Heads for the door again.

She's turned the knob and is just taking the first step down the steps when she hears it. The inhale, the tremor in it, the three words, rancor dripping from every letter: "back to _him_."

And Emma knows she's being baited. Knows that she shouldn't take it. Not when it's dangling in her face swaying back and forth. She _knows_.

But god _dammit_ Regina has absolutely _no_ right. So she spins, eyes flashing, finger jabbing at the air between them.

" _No_. You do _not_ get to do that. You don't get to act like the jealous lover. You don't get to act like you have every right to be angry at me. Because you don't. You have no right whatsoever. You have someone in your bed who isn't me every night too."

Horror ripples through her, soaking into her skin as she feels the hot pricking of tears, her throat tightening, a tremble, a hitch in her words that makes her want to punch something.

She draws in a breath, tries to keep the shakiness out of it, fails. She blinks back the burn in her eyes.

"You keep choosing him over me too, Regina, so _don't_." She gives a watery smile, feeling it like something awful on her face. "It'll save us both the heartache."

She turns to leave for good then. Wishes it could be for forever. Wants it like she wants most things that are just out of her reach. _Desperately_.

She wants Regina all to herself. She wants to be the only one who touches her, kisses her, wakes up beside her every morning. She wants to be the cause of her laughter, her surprising shyness when paid a compliment, her anger, her insecurities. She wants all of it. All of _her_.

But she also wants her as far away from her as possible. Out of reach completely. Where her fingertips can't graze the silk that is her skin. Where she can't be tempted. Where she can't want. Can't _need_.

She doesn't want to need Regina. She doesn't want someone to have power over her like that. Doesn't want to put so much of herself into another person's hands just to have them let her pieces slip between their fingers and onto the floor because they're already too full of someone else's.

She doesn't want to need Regina because if she _was_ to allow herself to need anyone it should be Killian. The man she loves. The man who loves her back. Loves her back and loves her so fiercely she wonders sometimes if he's confusing it with something else entirely. Sometimes she wonders if maybe he views her more as a thing to be worshipped than anything else. Wonders if he's gotten caught up in what she's supposed to stand for. If perhaps he views her as his savior.

She doesn't want to be anyone's savior. That implies need. And if there's one thing Emma's terrified of more than needing someone, it's _being_ needed.

But Regina won't leave Robin Hood because _he's my soulmate, Emma, don't you think I should at least try to be happy with him?_ Emma doesn't want to need Regina. Emma _isn't_ in love with Regina. She's in love with Killian. Him and only him. He's enough. Has to be. Emma's happy. Regina's happy.

They're _both_ happy.

 _And yet here you both are,_ Emma's mind whispers.

She fights back tears but Regina's broken 'please…don't leave' makes that fight a losing battle, her eyes closing, another shaky inhale making her shoulders tremble with it as she tenses every muscle in her body, keeping it from turning.

Her knuckles are straining, bone-white, against the force of her clenched fists and she grinds her teeth.

 _Don't turn around. Keep walking, Swan._

"We can't do this anymore, Regina," she says, voice soft, completely belying the rigidness of her entire body.

She doesn't turn.

She makes it to the intersection off Mifflin Street before she breaks down. Sitting inside of her bug at the stop sign, the sun glinting off of the hood, almost blinding, hands gripping the wheel, the smell of leather and the cinnamon air freshener she had bought a few weeks ago at Regina's insistence (incessant grumbling over the smell and _hey, come on, it doesn't smell_ that _bad in here_ ) permeating her already overloaded senses. If Emma was being honest though, Regina'd been right. Her bug _did_ kind of smell. Even Henry had scrunched his nose a few times, always looking absurdly like his mother whenever he did so.

Killian'd almost back to the apartment by now. Her and Regina only ever met up on Tuesday afternoons. Henry was at school, Robin was with Roland (with Marian at Granny's), and Killian was at the docks, on his beloved ship.

She'll have to clean herself up. Take a shower maybe. No, not maybe, yes. She smells like Regina. And though Killian wouldn't suspect anything other than possibly a new perfume she'd bought, it makes her feel dirty. And the fact that she feels _that_ makes her stomach heave.

She yanks down the mirror above the steering wheel and assesses the damage her five minutes of crying had caused.

She winces. Pokes and prods under her eyes, wipes and wipes. Sighs. Gives up.

She'll shower when she gets home. She'll let herself fall apart one last time if she needs it. (She knows she will.)

She'll welcome Killian with a kiss, smile. She'll be happy (she will, really, she always is when she sees him). They'll go to Granny's for dinner. They'll hold hands on the way there.

She won't think of Regina.

She won't think of Regina crying. Won't think of _please…don't leave_. Won't think of how small it had sounded.

She won't think of how she can still taste Regina on her lips even though she had brushed her teeth. Twice.

She won't think of how she can still smell her – that floral scent she has, mixed in with something exotic, like coconuts, tropical, a little like tanning lotion – on her skin even though she'd used half of her body wash which didn't smell _anything_ like Regina. She'd made sure. She'd bought Dove. It smelled like baby powder. It reminded her faintly of her mother. She figured if anything could be a damper on the libido, it'd be _that_.

She'd washed and washed, scrubbed and scrubbed, and yet she can still smell her. Like it's been tattooed on her skin, an indelible thing, something that she's afraid is going to linger for days, weeks even.

She'll have to buy perfume or something. And she definitely needs to get rid of that air freshener hanging off her rearview mirror. Should she –

"Are you alright, love?"

Emma snaps her head up, blinking up into light blue eyes before her gaze travels down to where Killian's hand's rested over top her own, next to their drinks.

It feels too warm, too big, and she can't stop herself from thinking how Regina's touch always feel right. Never too anything.

She snatches her hand away and stumbles up and out of the booth, staring at her hand as if it didn't belong to her.

"Emma?"

She hears the concern in his voice, hears the poorly contained hurt in it. She hears it but she doesn't respond to it.

Numb. She's numb with him. Everything is always so muted, so bland. So _dull_ in comparison to what she feels when she's with Regina.

And _fuck_ how could she have been so stupid? How could she have allowed herself to fall into this?

"I – not feeling well – I'm – " She bolts.

And she hears him yelling after her, his boots clomping loudly against the sidewalk as he rushes after her and she just _can't_ right now. She needs to be alone, needs to fucking _breathe,_ so she squeezes her eyes shut and pictures grey brick and a mirror and that little bench or was it more like a bed? and when she opens them next she's in Regina's vault, gasping because even though Regina's taught her how to teleport it's still a bit of a head rush and she always forgets to breathe when she does it. _Emma, it's not like going underwater, you have to breathe or you'll pass out and end up god knows where._

She bends at the waist and suddenly she's retching all over the concrete floor.

Regina is going to kill her. She has no idea how to magic away vomit chunks.

She grimaces and moves to the corner by one of the many shelves and rests her head against the cool brick, eyes dropping closed.

She jerks awake a few moments later, not having realized she'd even dozed off, and as she falls backward she knocks into something on one of the shelves and a few seconds later hears it shatter behind her, sounding a lot like glass.

"I leave you alone for an hour and you manage to destroy an entire room. Made up of concrete."

Regina's arms are crossed, clad in the same outfit from earlier, an eyebrow arched, amusement touching the smirk across her lips.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Regina!" Emma rubs at the back of her head. "You couldn't have like warned me or something before just randomly popping up?"

The amusement increases. "This is my vault, dear."

Emma blinks. "Oh. Right, yeah…uh." Her eyes flicker to what she thinks was a vase, then goes to the still very disgusting pile of what used to be her breakfast. She cringes. "Sorry?"

Regina rolls her eyes and gives a flourish of her hand, the vase piecing itself back together seamlessly and the vomit disappearing in a split second.

Emma gets to her feet, dusting off her jeans.

"I'll just – " she points behind Regina, toward the stairs.

"Emma, wait."

Emma stops. Turns. Feels an almost disorienting wave of déjà vu.

 _I don't want to kill you. See? That's a start._

"We…I think we need to talk."

Emma's jaw constricts, cheek twitching.

"No, actually we don't."

She moves past her and makes for the stairs but a warm hand wraps gently around her wrist. Emma inhales sharply. _Not too warm, not too tight, not demanding, not suffocating. Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perf –_

She wrenches away from Regina and finds her eyes, a flash of understanding in them, not the least bit hurt. It _infuriates_ Emma. How _well_ Regina knows her. How Regina, instead of taking a step forward, takes one small one backward.

"We need to talk because I can't keep quiet about it any longer."

Regina's eyes are fierce in a way that has Emma's heart thumping loudly in her chest.

And Emma doesn't _mean_ to say it out loud but _jesus_ , when has her body ever listened to her brain?

"Keep quiet about what?"

Now, Regina does take a step forward, then another, and another, until she's just a foot away from Emma.

She's smiling.

Emma's really confused.

"I'm going to fight for you, Emma Swan." Emma blinks rapidly. Regina's eyes rove across her face, stopping for a long few seconds on her lips as they part at the breathiness in Regina's tone.

Then she meets Emma's gaze again, breath breaking against Emma's cheeks.

"I've finally made the right choice."

Emma's brow furrows in confusion, mind reeling, feeling like a muddled mess at this point.

Regina's eyes are sparkling. Emma's enthralled by them.

" _You_."


End file.
